


The Great Styles

by gravitysrainbow



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, M/M, Romance, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravitysrainbow/pseuds/gravitysrainbow





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princesssavmalik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesssavmalik/gifts).



**Preface**

* * *

 

When you love someone or even something with enough intensity, everything that stands in your way will be obliterated until The End, when you become the conquered. Love will never make you happy, nothing will ever make you happy, but love is one of the antidotes to sooth the pain from the many bumps and jagged points that cause friction on your way downhill; numbing you with fantasy and dream-like hallucinations.

          In all aspects of culture and societal expression, love is exploited, reimagined, unrequited, announced, over exaggerated, under exaggerated, returned, romanticized and artistically rendered. Is the Great Gatsby a love story? A lesson in morals? A social critique? I haven’t the knowledge or energy level to answer that question intelligently and correctly, so we’ll go with labeling it an ill-fated love story. Love between many, not just one man and woman. Love between a man and woman fractured, love between a man and lust, love between a man and himself, a woman and herself, love between a man and wealth.

          How exciting this should be, seeing as Nick is already gay and homoerotic themes are already seen in the original text.

          I intend to stick relatively close the original plot line of The Great Gatsby, although I will fracture it some and appropriately. I intend for a sampling of smut but mostly fluff and the carrying out of the roles and plot. Read on for a brief backstory and a quick set up of my arrangement of characters.

          Nick Carraway, simultaneously the most important and least important character of the book, a mere lens (of moral and by which the story is narrated) which without there would be nothing, will be Niall. Nick’s cousin Daisy Buchanan and her husband Tom will be Louis Tomlinson and Eleanor Calder, respectively. Liam Payne will fill the sporty, boyish shoes of Jordan Baker, tan and lovely. As you may guess where this is going the Great Gatsby will instead be the Great Styles. (I debated going with the Superlative Styles but quickly erased that from my mind.) As for the Wilsons, George and Myrtle, a different approach will be taken. Zayn will serve as the Myrtle in this tale As for Owl Eyes, Ed Sheeran makes an appearance. Klipspringer shall be played by the wonderful and lovely (hold the applause) Taylor Swift. As for Meyer Wolfsheim, Nick Grimshaw will do, Harry Styles partner in crime…older…wiser…etc.

          Here’s to hoping I don’t confuse anyone and that I please you with what was intended to be a Larry fic and what will become a fanatical project. Louis as Daisy I just can’t handle it I am crying.

          Its important to note that I’ll be taking lines from the original text without formatting them properly, if that offends anyone, sorry I suppose. 98% will be of my pen.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He had an extraordinary sense of hope and an inclination to the bright side. His eyes were luminous, bright, as if they were glittering, caught by some distant, merciful sun in another galaxy. But Styles turned out alright in the end; it is what preyed on Styles, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that clouded him and eventually settled, taking him with it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy ;) feedback?

            “Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone, just remember that everyone in this world hasn’t had the advantages that you’ve had,” advice given to a young Niall Horan by his father. This lent Horan, a recent addition to the newly wealthy East Egg, affiliations with great, wild men, men much unlike himself.

His cheeks were always burning like he’d just witnessed some private event not intended for his eyes, which were profound and reserved; he had the soft, welcoming aura of a friend you’d known since childhood. Never quick to pass judgment, rarely passing anything but advice; standing next to Niall felt reassuring, that through his quiet dignity, the best parts of you reflected, loudly and glamorously. Horrible secrets were illuminated around him though, never by his own mouth, but by some secret upper hand.

No one really knew if Niall joked around or if he were ever even serious, his personality as neutral as his opinions seemed to be. Potentially though, Niall was hiding secrets, or would hide secrets someday, the kind that sink in through skin and manifest inside bone marrow; these terrible secrets becoming a common thread for the East Egg neighborhood.

But Niall was not a threat, and never was a threat to anyone that had encountered him. Commonly attractive, his bright, welcoming eyes the only part of him to stand out, clasped hand in hand with his calm, easy going nature.

Niall was somewhat of a pond, when standing in the daylight, shimmery blond hair in the sunlight, he seemed pleasant and potentially shallow, but at night, much like a pond gone black in the moonlight, he seemed infinitely wise and became the perfect confident.

Niall never boasted this quality, even though it must have been apparent to him, he reined it in at an early age, and like the great contradiction his life was, he used it in manipulation, almost.

But something kept all these strange and powerful men in orbit around Niall, something magnetic, or some desperate need for approval in the men kept him around. He was not important, yet without Niall, none of this would have happened.

 

~

 

He had an extraordinary sense of hope and an inclination to the bright side. His eyes were luminous, bright, as if they were glittering, caught by some distant, merciful sun in another galaxy. But Styles turned out alright in the end; it is what preyed on Styles, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that clouded him and eventually settled, taking him with it.

            If personality is a series of unbroken gestures, there was something gorgeous about him, in every articulation of his hands, every grand gesture, with every movement of his long, frame a sprinkle of glittering magic trailed. His heart burned deep crimson passion and radiated in his actions and words and spilled out all over anyone he touched through his fingertips. He had the universe reclining in his hair.

            Much like the sun, Harry Styles was the center of everything. It was Harry Styles life that radiated a golden glow of great, extraordinary expectation and mystique. It was Harry Styles that kept his galaxy, this galaxy, everything that had the pleasured of being involved with him, in a madly jealous lust with him.

            Styles was the king Midas, everything he touched was already gold and instead left his fingertips enchanted to the point of rottenness. He was the picture of pure, genuine kindness, heart infinitely open and delighted in the company of people he assumed would never wrong him.

            But his first and only real mistake was having a swelling faith in the company that surrounded him, an angel dragged from his luxurious bed in the clouds to be trampled and degraded.

            Harry Styles was a cherub grown into a man, having trudged his stairway to heaven, sacrificing everything to be at the top step he was at now, leaving a trail of shattered jars that held what once was precious.

           

 

            ~

 

 

            “Excuse me sir, which way to the East Egg Village?” A helpless man asked Niall, who’d been walking under a canopy of ripe foliage and blanket-like sunshine, feeling a familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.  

With Niall’s response, loneliness that plagued him shed, as he headed back to his humble cottage, surrounded comfortingly by mansions and wealth… and promise. On his way back to his place, he had a good excuse to stare and notate on his neighbors, with one in particular, Styles. The Styles mansion was sprawling, loud as some luxury can be, mixing a distinct money frenzy and dreams of what would be before it had been.

Almost every night he had been living in West Egg, Niall had noticed the fantastic parties Styles held in his domain, never sure how to feel or what to assume about the fanciful host he lived so near to. His curiosity in the parties, and the man himself, surpassed the normal desire to be included in the near nightly extravaganzas. Niall knew this Styles wasn’t the average man, he couldn’t pinpoint yet, if this were a positive or negative “average” though.

On a particularly warm evening, as Niall breezed about his small, tidy abode, his cousin across the courtesy bay phoned him.

“Hello?”

“Niall! How come you didn’t tell me you moved out East so close to us!” Louis’ voice came warmly through the receiver. “Are you avoiding me?”

“I meant to phone you the day after I arrived, but I was wrapped up in addressing the cluttered state of my house and…well, my entire life in that moment! Its handy you called now, I’m nearly entirely settled!” He’d last seen his cousin once removed, Louis, and Louis’ wife after he’d come home from the war, having spent time with them in Chicago.

“Well you must join us for a dinner tonight, then! I will not take no for an answer!” Louis’ tone of voice always assured that the conversation at hand was the most important conversation he’d had all day and would have all day, regardless of the subject matter.

“…Yes I suppose, will Eleanor be alright with it?”

“She can’t control me! I’ll send a driver to fetch you; you’re in West Egg right?”

“Yes, thank you, in the little bungalow at the tip, not 50 feet away from the sound.” He didn’t want to say “next to the Styles mansion,” because that accentuated how “humble” his house really seemed.

“I’ll see you soon, Horan!”

 

And with that, Niall was to have dinner with old friends whom he hardly knew.

 

 

~

 

 

The driver took his silent half turn into the spiraling driveway, which connected to a spiraling path to the front entrance, the yard expansive, manicured and Kelley green; they had finally reached the cheerful red and white Georgian Colonial mansion overlooking the bay, more elaborate than Niall had originally expected.

            The front of the house faced the beach, the lawn fading up from scarce, to less scarce, to entirely green, the long path to the front entrance was shrouded by clever and appealing landscaping, no doubt at the tasteful hand of Louis.

            A figure stood looming at the front porch of the sprawling abode, clad in an expensive riding suit, the jacket of very tasteful and modern cut, sloping shorter in the front and extending longer in the back. It fit her trim, fit figure quite well and the rich navy color illuminated her pale skin, framed by her deep brown _cheveux._

            Eleanor, Louis’ progressive wife, had her hair shorn in a long bob, her perfectly shaped waves floating a half inch above her petite, delicate shoulders. She stood, in her outfit; most likely terribly warm in the pleasantly heavy June air, showing only flushed cheeks in her otherwise breezy state.

            About her, most likely due to her dominant stance, was an air of command and divine dominance. Something about the command of her thin, long limbs was threatening, her eyes curved pleasantly on her heart shaped face but mentioned they knew deep powers and lusted after control.

            She had done a silent film in her 20s, but now it was the 1920s and she couldn’t catch another hit to solidify her presence, so she’d given up and settled down with Louis, who was a bit of a wash up himself, feasting endlessly and restlessly on the wealthy life they napped through. Louis had been, at one point a while ago, the center forward for Manchester United; one of the most powerful footballers to ever play on the team. He’d been a national figure in a way, one of those men that reach an acute limited excellence at twenty one and everything after savors of anti-climax. He’d been an outstanding footballer, better than many of his predecessors, and those who came after him, but had injured his knee in a game late in what would be his final season; doctors later coming to the conclusion that he’d best cease playing.

            It was then that he and Eleanor spent time drifting about Europe, leaving their beloved England and finally deciding to settle on the east coast. Niall had last seen them in Chicago, where they’d stayed about romping before their house in West Egg had been completed.

            Niall found Eleanor to be a fair match for Louis, on a whole; although the sunny, ethereal quality Louis had always possessed hid away under his skin when in the presence of his wife.

 

            But it was Eleanor who Niall had finally reached on the porch, not Louis. And he was to speak to her alone here before he could get to his cousin.

            “Now don’t think my opinion on these matters is final,” the pursed lips, slightly narrowed eyes she gave Niall seemed to say, “just because I’m stronger and more successful at our ages than you are.”

            “We’ve got a nice place here.” Her delicate, thin arm and gracefully arranged fingers gestured out to sweep my view across the front of the house. “It belonged to Simon Cowell.” Her flashing eyes broke whatever distance they stared into and looked back at Niall, “let’s go inside.”

           

~

 

            Eleanor walked them casually and dominantly down a breezy open corridor, displaying just how rich they really were. It stunned Niall that someone in his age group could be so enormously wealthy, both for doing seemingly nothing. At the other end of the large room they approached were multiple French doors, all open, spider’s web woven lace curtains billowed and flitted in with the filtering sun and mingling breeze.

            The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young men were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. Their suits were cool, light colors; Louis’ sea foam green shirt peered out from underneath a beige suit, paired with a silk, white ascot framing his sharp, handsome features and rich tan skin. He sat opposite another handsome young man, dressed in a light gray suit paired with a light blue shirt, his legs stretched out fully over the length of his end of the divan.

            Louis noticed Niall, with a flash rippling through his bright blue eyes, like a silver fish caught by a sun ray just under the surface of a fantastic pool. He stood up and laughed his curiously high and charming laugh which seemed to rope Niall into the room like a lasso.

            “Niall, I’m paralyzed with happiness!” which was accompanied now with a fuller laugh, suggesting he had said something very witty. He shook Niall’s hand with a quick, engulfing vigor, as if his touch reaffirmed his joy to see you. He looked straight into Niall’s eyes then, still holding his grip, promising that there was no one in the world he so much wanted to see. That was a way he had, filling any presence near him with a kind of warm syrup.

            He leaned into Niall’s side then, his aroma rushing into Niall’s nose as his swift confident movements made the air spiral out around him. He whispered quick the surname of the lad next to him, and pulled away eyes flashing once more and sealing the exchange with a wink. (I’ve heard it said that Louis’ quick whispers were only to make people lean toward him; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)

            As Louis stepped back he revealed the other man, handsome and tan, hair a sweet caramel color and eyes pleasant and kind. He nodded politely at Niall, a wordless hello, as his mouth curving up on one side into a pink, crooked smile. He then shifted his gaze from Niall out the window at the water so close to the house.

            Niall looked back at Louis who had started to converse with him in his strange, enthralling voice. It was at least an octave higher than the average man’s, but raspy and squeaky when he seemed to force it out by way of too much excitement. It was rousing, leaping up and down with wonderful, interesting inflection; made all the more entertaining with his Yorkshire accent.

            Niall told Louis of his recent trip to London, on his way to the states from Ireland where he’d been visiting his family and how about a dozen people had sent their love back to Louis with him.

            “Do they miss me?” he cried ecstatically.

“The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath, and there’s a persistent wail all night along the north shore.”

“Eleanor, we’re going back!” His eyes crinkled at the ends as he smiled cheekily in his wife’s direction. She had been standing near one set of the French doors looking bored and restless. She’d somehow snuck out and back in the room in the shortest amount of time, changing from her riding outfit into a navy dress. The waist was slung low around her slender frame, suggesting sharp hips and thin, smooth legs. The straps were thin and little glistening delicate beads illuminated the shift.

 “What you doing, Niall?” She suddenly turned to Niall and asked, abruptly and without real concern for his answer.

“I’m a bond man.”

“Who with?”

He told her.

“Never heard of them,” she remarked decisively.

This annoyed Niall.

“You will,” He answered shortly. “You will if you stay in the East.”

“Oh, I’ll stay in the East, don’t you worry,” she said, glancing at Louis and then back at Niall, as if she were alert for something more. “I’d be a God damned fool to live anywhere else.”

“Right you are!” Liam Payne, the young man on the divan broke suddenly from his long silent gaze, starting upwards, moving about in an animatedly stiff way. “I’ve been lying on the sofa for as long as I can remember.”

“It’s not _my_ fault, I’ve been trying to get you to New York all afternoon,” turning from Liam to Niall to add, “Liam’s in training and lounging about like a fatty is better than getting out into the city supposedly.”

“It’s true!” His face scrunched into a frown and his voice came out with childish indignation.

Eleanor snorted and downed the alcohol in her glass as if it were merely an inch deep with water, “how you ever get anything done is lost on me!”

Niall’s eyes then fixed back upon his new acquaintance, who was handsome, tan and sporting handsome stubble. His body was lean but under his suit muscle obviously rippled and suggested his athleticism, his posture was cadet-like and his face splattered with faint freckles that only showed when his skin caught the sun. Niall couldn’t help but feel as if he’d known him from somewhere, his warm and comely features familiar.

“So, you’re from West Egg? I know someone there.”

“I don’t know a single soul!” Niall let out with a chuckle, lending everyone the thought that Niall found it funnier than it was lonely.

“Surely you must know Styles!”

“Styles?” Louis added, his normally jovial façade rippling away, “What Styles?”

Niall didn’t have a chance to sooth the sudden alert strain in his cousin’s eyes for dinner was announced with queer timing in their conversation and Eleanor linked her arm in Niall’s to drag him away. 

 

~

 

“Why _candles_?” objected Louis, frowning. He snapped them out with his fingers, “in two weeks it’ll be the longest day in the year.” He looked at us all radiantly. “Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it.”

“How could you miss it? It’s the longest day of the year; you have the largest chance of any days _not_ to miss it.”

Something about Eleanor’s discontent manner and short, abrasive comments turned Niall completely off, but with the infinite patience Louis seemed to have with her, Niall followed suit.

“We should all go to the city or take a short road trip sometime. Let’s plan something.” Liam, Niall could already assume, was a mediator, a person who often served as glue. Interestingly wise for his age and annoyingly so he could expect on occasions. Which made him all the more endearing to Niall, doing everything with a sixth sense for others around him and even in his wake.

“What should we plan?” Louis said and then turned to Niall, “What do people plan?”

I had hardly time to think or respond when his face opened with a wide and shocked expression, his lips parting into a little “o” as his eyes fixated on a large gash in his hand, blood had smeared and dried without his attention. And within a second it had everyone’s attention including his, looking more rough and cragged the longer you gazed.

“You did it, Eleanor.” His eyes softened and he looked at Eleanor, reminding me of wildly sparse but frustrating moments when it was impossible to gauge Louis’ emotion. “You didn’t mean to, but you _did_ do it. That’s what I get for marrying such a fiery woman. Such a sassy, spitfi—”

“I hate that word ‘spitfire’,” objected Eleanor crossly, “even in kidding.”

“Spitfire.” Louis said, accentuating every syllable in his funny accent.

 

~

 

It was curious how handsome his cousin Louis was, Niall spent minutes pondering this as Louis went about doing activities in the skin of his perfect tan and exciting notions. His eyes weren’t especially large or curious, but were bright and expressive; they scrunched together or opened wide depending on the emotions inside him and all over his face. His eyes were thin, like someone who was shrewd without the actual shrewd qualities. If you looked closely at the skin on his face you could see tiny flecks of gold paired with freckles and shiny, dark brown stubble; it was no wonder someone like Eleanor seemed to prize him. No wonder, even, that he used to have the command of entire stadiums and even whole chunks of the region while he played. He was handsome, electric and luminous. Easily lovable by everyone, not ruined or soiled, it seemed by anyone or anything. It made Niall wonder why Louis settled for the dull, barely-there glow of Eleanor, who some men might have enjoyed looking at perhaps.

 

Eleanor loomed uneasily all throughout the dinner; everyone accepted that dinner would come to a close and soon thereafter the next activity would also finish until the whole night had been spent just as easily as the casual and impersonal banter they’d exchanged. Niall could see night after night like this becoming boring and politely apathetic, and imagined how Louis’ vibrant and sensational persona could handle the droll aura of it all.

            With all the wealth, notoriety and apparently, the class they held, why were their evenings so stale and casual, Niall wondered while he attempted to casually and slowly drink his Riesling. (Which he’d rather knock back, letting each glass trail the other.)

            “Louis how to you spend all your days now? Does the field still beckon?”

            “What do you mean, mate? I’m still the master of the green!” He winked at Niall then, as his voice carried on in its raspy, start stop fashion. He set his fork down and wiped the corners of his mouth with his crisp napkin one last time before he set it down on the table and simultaneously pushed out his chair. He grabbed his glass of wine then, filling it once more from the fancy decanter on the table and finally leaned back and reclined. One arm rested behind his head pulling his tightly tailored suit taut, exposing the curves of his biceps and outlining his assumedly impressive package hidden under his inseam.  

            “I’ll play you sometime, yeah? See if you’ve still got it.” Niall joked, knocking back what remained in his glass, helping himself to more.

            “You’ll be poorly mistaken!” You could tell Louis wanted nothing more than to spend his days wrapped up entirely in football again, playing on his favorite team, in the most important position.

            “Louis, quit it. That’s over.” Eleanor became cross from her chair at the head of the table. She opened her mouth to speak but the loud ring of the telephone just around the corner in the other room interrupted her. Her eyes grew a bit darker, in an anxious fashion, as if the caller’s identity rested heavily upon her shoulder. Louis’ face had fallen momentarily after she’d shushed him, but lit back up before anyone had the chance to spot out his weak moment. He played idly with the fine glass he held in his bronze, strong hand, as the butler walked into the room and bee-lined for Eleanor. He whispered something into her ear, as the guests (and host) pretended to be otherwise occupied politely.

            As soon as the butler had pulled away, Eleanor’s lovely but cross face distorted with anger and she huffed out of her chair suddenly. Throwing down her napkin she went, presumably, to the phone around the corner in the other room. As soon as she had exited Louis took his chance to fill the silence with his thrilling voice.

            “Would you like to hear a family secret?” He had sat up in his chair a little straighter, body excited to have the attention of the two young men. “It’s about a hidden burglar. Do you want to know about a hidden burglar?”

            “That’s why I came over tonight.”

            “I was with a friend years ago at his step father’s summer house and we’d been outside all afternoon playing football and swimming in the pool. We didn’t notice while we were playing— I was winning— that dusk had come and it’d grown dark. All of a sudden we quit playing because he heard a moan from the field at the end of the yard. And when we stopped moving, we heard it again. Thinking it was a burglar or even a murderer; we rushed inside and slept in the same room. I had a butler check outside the next morning and it was only a cow with a twisted ankle.”

            “You could’ve gotten him killed!” Liam added in jest.

            “I’ve never been so terrified for my life and you mock me now when I could’ve died!” Louis was so delightfully great at being falsely offended you wondered if there was ever any slight truth in it.

            “I love to see you at my table, Niall. You remind me of a— of a ray of sunshine. Quite like a golden strand of sunshine.” He turned to Liam for confirmation in his statement, but quickly cut the warm current of love that stirred inside him and exited the room in a fast, breezy motion. Shutting the French doors to the dining room as he left, leaving Niall and Liam alone together.

            “You mentioned earlier you knew my neighbor, Mr. Sty—”

            “Don’t talk, I can’t hear.” Liam sent a hand impatiently in Niall’s direction, body leaning towards the closed wooded doors that muffled the vehement voices of Louis and Eleanor.

            “Is something going on?” Niall’s eyes were wide and inquisitive with innocence.

            “What?”

            “Why are they acting like this?”

“You really don’t know?” Liam was incredulous and broke his concentration on the distant conversation to blink in genuine shock at Niall.

            “No…?”

            “Well… Em… Eleanor’s got some man in New York.” The words he spoke seemed to embarrass him with earnest shame, something Niall would learn later Eleanor didn’t possess.

            “Got some man in New York?” Niall still hadn’t caught on, replying blankly.

            Liam nodded; his face slightly more solemn then it had been seconds before, as if he’d realized the gravity of the entire situation right then and there.

            “He might have the decency not to phone him at dinner, don’t you agree?”

            Niall had hardly grasped what Mr. Payne had meant when the doors opened casually and Louis came in laughing and in the middle of a joke, his face again impossible to decipher as he melodically delivered a punch line, cheeks and eyes red. Eleanor followed with her body tense and eye brows unable to release their furrow, still holding on to anger that was slipping down a slope of some other emotion like guilt or anxiety.

            “I looked when we were in the corridor and I noticed how lovely the sunset is settling in the house, languid all over the furniture. It was quite romantic, wasn’t it Eleanor? Looked especially lovely on your hair.”

            “Very romantic.” She replied, then aside to Niall miserably, she said, “you’ll have to see the stables after dinner if it’s not too dark.”

            A serious of charades came through next, none of which the group will remember, probably. Relighting of the candles, crossing and uncrossing of legs, folding napkins and changing their placement, Eleanor’s heels tapping slightly as she shuffles her feet, the meeting and averting of eyes, all while a shrill ring sung from around the corner in the other room.

           

~

 

            Liam and Eleanor disappeared silently and without much acknowledgement of each other to the library down the hall, as Niall and Louis took a stroll alongside the pebble filled beach, yards away from one set of French doors along the backside of the house.

            The two found a single bench far from the spray of the waves but close to the area where the sand mixes unabashedly/shamelessly with the grass and pebbles, all alike and sat down side by side to stare into the dark waves with the weight of the world on their shoulders like adults always want to do.

            Louis’ eyes looked deep and endless, like the mouth of a cavern full of every emotion. Niall sensed Louis was on the precipice of an emotional confession, he segued to casual conversation about Louis’ house.

            “We don’t know each other very well, Niall,” he said suddenly, “even if we are cousins. You didn’t come to my wedding.”

            “I wasn’t back from the war, yet.”

“That’s true.” He hesitated. “Well, I’ve had a very bad time, Niall, and I’m pretty cynical about everything.”

And it shocked Niall to hear this, to see that it had all gotten to him so deeply. Louis was one of those people you met and you fell in love with right off, and if you said you disliked him, you didn’t, you were just jealous or envious or something to your own fault.

“Niall, I always believe that you should live for the moment, because everything else is quite uncertain. But I don’t know about that anymore.”

“You have a lot to think about.”

With that he looked at Niall, square in the eyes, “I suppose I do.” As some sort of flash went over his lovely features, some look of semblance to things great and grand no one knew anything about.

With that he stood up, having wiped himself of the raw emotions still dripping from his lips messily and exposed and said, “Have you quite finished?” Finishing with yet another wink, a little secret sent directly to Niall with one deliberate twitch of his eye lid.

 

~

 

“Good evening group!” Louis entered, completely void of the emotion he exposed not 10 minutes ago to Niall; covering all the rough and injured edges so Eleanor couldn’t see. She looked back at him with complete discontent.

They had returned to Liam reading the _Saturday Evening Post_ aloud to the room and to Mrs. Tomlinson, who presumably wasn’t listening but rather stewing in her own anxieties and qualms. His voice was soft and professional, the kind of voice you hear delivering your news, or the voice you wish was reading your bedtime stories. It had a personable quality to it that slid through the ears like smooth chocolate.

The lamplight was bright and warm on Liam’s skin, giving it a quiet radiance. It fell hard on Eleanor’s secretly pouting face, creating shadows on her face that accentuated her slight frown into something much more menacing.

“To be continued!” Liam tossed the magazine down on the adjacent coffee table and Niall and Louis situated themselves on one each of the four settees in the library. “But for now, I must turn in.”

“Liam’s got a big match tomorrow! On track for the heavyweight!” Louis beamed proudly at his friend standing up. “At the Gardens!”

Niall wasn’t into spectator sports much, but couldn’t believe he’d missed that Liam was one of the top amateur contenders in this year’s World Heavyweight Championship. “Oh— you’re Liam _Payne_.”

His face was familiar now for a reason, not just friendly. It was a wonder how someone with such a soft, rolling accent and kind, pleasant features beat the shit out of contenders left and right. His legacy lay in his literal tough love approach, knock them out in the first couple rounds and help them up afterwards, pat their cheek, rub their back, etc. Liam was known for the near remorse he demonstrated after every victory, even taking some competitors out for a pint afterwards.

“Goodnight. Wake me at 8, won’t you?”

“If you haven’t already gotten up!” Liam seemed like the type to get up at 5 and train for 3 hours then proceed to eat raw eggs for breakfast— more diligent than Niall ever could be. And judging my Louis’ remark, Niall figured that was exactly the type of guy Liam was.

“It was a pleasure meeting you Niall!” And with a quick shake of Niall’s hand— firm, friendly— he proceed upstairs and out of sight. 

“Such a nice lad.” Louis smiled, thinking of his friend as some memory passed through his lineaments.

~

            “Did you give Niall a nice little heart to heart on the beach?” Eleanor asked in her most polite tone yet tonight, despite it dripping with sharp, red cruelty.

            “Did I?” Louis looked innocently enough at Niall.

            “I can’t seem to remember. But I think we talked about theater, actors and if you can trust everything they say. Family matters as well.” Niall fibbed and Louis no doubt twitched his lip in a small smirk of gratitude.

            “Don’t believe everything you hear, Niall.” She advised Niall, trying to sound as sagely as possibly. All Niall caught was the undercurrents of suspicion.

~

            “Wait!” Louis called after me right after the driver had started the car. “I forgot to ask you, we heard you were engaged to a girl back home.”

            “That’s right,” corroborated Eleanor kindly. “We heard that you were engaged.”

            “Sorry mates, no Mrs. here!”

            “We heard it from three people, we thought it was true.” Louis one more time made a face indecipherable to judge.

            Of course Niall knew what they were talking about and had escaped his home to get away from it, but was nevertheless touched by their concern, making them seem a bit less rich.

 

~

 

The drive home was peaceful, Niall found himself pleasantly relaxed in the back of the Buchanan’s coupe, thoughts straining to be far from the tribulations of the night. The blanket of navy velvet that covered the West Egg made the trees looming and enormous, god knows what looming in the secret hollows and under the cover of darkness. The air had a lazy gaiety about it, languid and warm with no trace of humidity. It idly passed Niall’s cheeks, like the soft, thin and warm fingers of beautiful young seductresses. Whispering sultry sentences in his ears, causing little chills to run down the length of his spine until the driver pulled up to Niall’s bungalow and bid him farewell. Niall thanked him and slid him a tip, unsure of how to treat a distant cousin’s driver. The driver tipped his hat and smiled a tiny bit wider than usual, retreated alone in the car into the luxurious, shadowy night.

Niall took a seat on a large, landscaped boulder in his lawn, letting the night touch him deeper than he let most women, being carried away on the pure simplicity of the intrusive and interesting warmth of the night along with the spindles and chills she brought with her. The silhouette of a moving cat wavered across the moonlight, and turning his head to watch it, he saw that he was not alone — fifty feet away a figure had emerged from the shadow of the neighbor’s mansion and was standing with his hands in his pockets regarding the silver pepper of the stars and inquiring what his life was worth amongst the entirety of the galaxy.

He was hidden in the backdrop, a magnificent shadow rising mystifyingly from two feet planted confidently in the lawn. He was tall and his outline was even impressive then, making Niall eager to see how he looked with features visible and up close.

As Niall was about to rise up and call to him, ready to mention Liam’s mentioning over dinner, the elusive Styles suggested he wanted to be alone. His long, lean arms extended from his body outwards, and it looked, even from Niall’s distance, he might have been trembling. Body and soul angled and opened up vulnerably to a single green light across the bay between the eggs.

Niall assumed the light was at the end of one of the docks in the East Egg, but wondered why Styles adored it in this way. As soon as he looked from the light back to Mr. Styles, he noticed that the man had vanished, completely disappeared in the back drop.

And once again Niall was alone in the navy nightfall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

           

 

 

 

             

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback please, if you would? Share with others, if you enjoy. I really hope you do!~ xoxo


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